


Collected Drabbles, One-Shots

by justonemoreartist



Category: Frozen (2013)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Bad Ending, Gen, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-15
Updated: 2014-06-15
Packaged: 2018-02-04 18:50:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1789450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justonemoreartist/pseuds/justonemoreartist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of unrelated drabbles and one-shots based off of prompts that don't really deserve their own stories.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: Elsa is left with the trolls as a child following the accident and befriends Kristoff. The two of them pull pranks on the troll children. This is one such prank.
> 
> "Gris" means "pig" in Norwegian.

“Come on…come on….”

Kristoff jostled and shushed her, but she ignored him, her determined gaze focused entirely on the little troll child plodding his way through the forest. Gris was stopping every now and again to stuff his face with dandelion heads and daisies. Food was very important for a growing boy, even if his growth was more horizontal than vertical, and as such he was taking his merry time getting to the cleverly disguised trail they’d spent the morning digging. A morning that had been punctuated by giggles and random shoving while Sven bleated and bounced in between them like the “rowdy scamp” Elsa called him while tugging on his ears.

“He’s taking forever…” she groaned, and dropped her head to her knees. Beside her the human boy was worrying a leaf in between his thick fingers as they waited in the bush for Gris to get a move on, but their target was both blissfully unaware of their spying on him and of the timetable he was failing to keep. Sven’s hot breath tickled Kristoff’s thigh while the three of them crouched, some of them more patient than others.

The troll paused and glanced around quickly. Satisfied that he was alone, he happily lifted his hand to his face and extended his index finger. Elsa let out an “ICK!” before Kristoff could clap a hand over her mouth when Gris’ finger left his nostril, entered and then exited his mouth, leaving behind a satisfied smile. He eyed the shaking bush with some curiosity, but when he stepped towards it, his dark eyes bulged and his feet flew out from under him. “Ahhhh!” cried Gris, and thus his rapid descent down the glittering ice slide began. Elsa and Kristoff raced out of their hiding spot and to the top of the hill to watch.

Squealing, the troll boy shot down the hill, made slick with a thick carpet of ice, smashing right through the first layer of glue dripped over carefully arranged branches and into the second within seconds of each other. Next, Gris hit the stolen pillows and they exploded all over him, showering him in downy feathers that stuck to his gluey body. Kristoff and Elsa howled, barely able to stand as they leaned on one another, when Gris shot through the pillowcase filled with red dust, his hacking and cursing music to their ears.

The crashing and screaming came to a complete halt for a single instant when he came upon the ramp leading up to the pool beyond, and for a glorious moment the sun that filtered through the trees in merry beams illuminated Gris’ stunned, if upside-down expression plastered to his messy face as the feathers fluttered in the breeze, his body soaring above the gleaming pool, giving him the likeness of an idiotic angel, and the children learned that sometimes, pigs do fly.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Olaf dying.

At the knock the footman opened the door to reveal two guards and an odd, apparently mobile clump of snow. The footman started, but made no comment beyond his confused expression as he stepped aside. One of the guards nudged the thing with the tip of his boot and it flopped inside and onto the red carpet with a wet splash. The man pulled a face but retained a professional tone when he said, “Your Majesty, we found this…snowman in the cellar, hiding amongst the frozen meats. It can speak, and claims to have been created by the queen.”

King Hans turned away from the window, intrigued. The last time he had encountered a being made of ice and snow, born of the late queen’s magic, he had nearly been decapitated by it. Though he had made sure to return the favor before, now he could easily see that this construct was far less dangerous. The warm summer air, so wonderfully sweet after such a violent winter, had nearly wrecked it already, and whatever facial features had been there before it was discovered were slowly merging into a drooping mass that left puddles on the floor.

Hans waved his hand and the three men left him alone in his study with the creature. The doors, as they always did, automatically locked behind them.

He watched, amused, as the little snowman swung one of its stick arms up to its face, as though to cover a gasp, but its head had sunk several inches into its body, so the stick covered its wide eyes instead. “You!” said the snowman. “You’re the guy I saw on the ice, when, when…” Hans wasn’t sure if the snowman’s rate of melting had suddenly picked up or if it was crying; either way, the thought brought a smile curling across his face.

“…you weren’t her true love,” the snowman added. Something about the way he said it made it the worst accusation of all.

Hans glanced out the window. In the courtyard, the afternoon sun sent deep shadows crawling through the grass and across the trees, the rows upon rows of flowers an explosion of color amidst a sea of green. All manner of blooms adorned the gardens, filling the air with their rich scents as they twisted and merged into something both unique and fragrant. In the center of it all stood his pride and joy, both a reminder of his power and a lesson to others to respect it, her arms flung out in desperation, just a moment too late, her failure captured for all of eternity.

Elsa’s body, meanwhile, much like her ill effects, had long since decayed. Or so he thought. Evidently he still had some cleaning up to do.

“No,” Hans said, as he picked up the steaming tea kettle on the desk, “I wasn’t her true love at all.”

Terror grew in the snowman’s eyes as he advanced, but it had nowhere to run. Hans had made sure of that.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Kristoff trying to teach Anna life skills.

They went ice fishing on Monday.

Because he had been busy setting up their seats, Kristoff had failed to notice Anna sawing enthusiastically away at the ice, only jerking his head around at her startled “Oh!” when the circle disappeared into the frigid water below, taking her with it. Both of them were soaking wet and wracked by shivers by the time the flailing princess had been rescued from the hole she’d made, which resulted in a very miserable ride back to the castle.

One hasty, if sincere, apology to the concerned queen later, Anna was happily wrapped up in a warm bed with hot tea to combat her sniffles and Kristoff was happy to be let off with a warning to be more careful with the princess. And no more ice fishing.

* * *

 

They went hunting on Wednesday.

Kristoff had checked to make sure that the shotguns had been cleaned and examined thoroughly, their ammunition of the highest quality, and the game the dullest and slowest of birds. This made things that much worse when he watched, as if time had slowed down, Anna swing her weapon in a sweeping arc, single opened eye focused on the targets, towards his face. Dimly he heard a strangled cry from his right a split second before Sven crashed into her, sending the woman to the ground and the spray of pellets whizzing harmlessly over the reindeer’s back.

Kristoff endured a full-on lecture this time by a now incensed Elsa, interspersed with Anna’s repeated claims that no, it wasn’t his fault, and it wasn’t Sven’s, either, so please would you just calm down because it’s just a bruise, okay? Admittedly, it was a bruise that covered a significant portion of the princess’s upper body, but it could have been worse.

Elsa remained unconvinced when she sent him away to think about what he’d done.

* * *

 

They went trapping on Friday.

The head smith had fumed silently as Kristoff rejected each and every one of his traps, his only response to Kristoff’s request for “wooden traps, or something that couldn’t possibly hurt anyone-wait, what about woolen covered traps?” a small, but significant facial tic. The ice harvester eventually settled upon one trap made out of heavy, iron jaws, and one that consisted of a single piece of string and a stick.

“How does this work?” Anna muttered as they waited for their prey to arrive. She’d somehow managed to get the string wrapped around several of her fingers so that her hands were tied together. Kristoff sighed and patiently began unwrapping each finger one by one, working around her squirming and chattering with a patience inspired by the queen’s face when she glared at him. She was almost free when a fox stepped out from behind a bush, which Kristoff knew about by the way Anna’s hand shot out as she shouted “Look, a fox!” before her tied hands sent the pair of them off-balance and careening towards the ground.

Anna let out a cry as she fell, and Kristoff felt his short, pitiful life flash before his eyes as he dived forward and shoved her out of the way, seconds before landing on a rather familiar pile of leaves.

The queen did not say anything to him this time besides a quiet recommendation that he see a doctor immediately, or at least staunch the bleeding. Kristoff, who hadn’t been aware that he was bleeding again, nodded dreamily at her and wandered off in the general direction of a physician, shadowed by a very apologetic princess and a concerned reindeer.

* * *

 

Three weeks later, when the bandages came off, they tried cooking.

Anna lifted the spoon to her lips and, glancing briefly at Kristoff, blew on it delicately before taking a measured sip. Her cautious expression blossomed into a look of startled pleasure, and, without cleaning the spoon, she dipped it back into the pot of tea and lifted it to his face. “Try it!”

Obediently, he ducked his head and accepted the offering with some trepidation. But then he, too, was smiling, despite his fears

He mulled over the taste, rolling it around on his tongue, before swallowing. It was sweet, almost sickly so, but had a flavorful aftertaste that he’d never experienced before when brewing tea. “Wow. That’s…well. I, I kind of started you off on something really simple because I was afraid you were going to-” He paused and looked away hastily. “…uh, I was afraid you wouldn’t like things that were too complicated, but…” He looked between the pot and her beaming face before chuckling. “That’s actually pretty good. What did you do to it?”

“Oh, I didn’t really follow the recipe you gave me: I wanted to try something new, so I used some of the leaves from those branches you gave me last week, you know, the ones with the white berries?”

His face fell. “…the mistletoe?”

He seriously considered drinking the rest of the tea. Elsa would kill him anyways.


End file.
